


Not a red rose or a satin heart.

by EvilSalmon



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, College, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, No Angst, Slow Burn, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 17:32:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7232005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilSalmon/pseuds/EvilSalmon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Alec is a college student who doesn't have time for this pointless poetry class but ends up falling for the gorgeous Teaching Assistant.</p>
<p>Title from Carol Ann Duffy's "Valentine".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not a red rose or a satin heart.

**Author's Note:**

> I set this on the west coast, at UCLA specifically, because that's what I'm familiar with and because I wanted an excuse to have Alec and Magnus shirtless in the fall. (That doesn't happen in this chapter, but I promise it will in future.) UCLA runs on the quarter system, not semester, so that's ten weeks of classes plus a week for finals at the end. I hope all the other Americanisms translate.
> 
> I hope to update this pretty regularly as the story is basically writing itself in my head. Let me know what you think and thank you for reading. ♥

“This is stupid,” Alec moaned for the third time. Pulling on a t-shirt, he was blind and unable to defend himself as a pillow sailed through the air and hit his head.

“Jace!” he snapped, but the lump of bedsheets and mussed blond hair that was his adoptive brother didn’t move.

“What stupid is you complaining for the _fifteenth time_.” The lump shifted and turned. Jace’s blue-brown eyes blinked at Alec, still blurry with sleep and unable to focus.

“Dude, we all have stupid classes. Just go.”

Scowling, Alec threw the pillow back in Jace’s face, but the half-asleep boy simply accepted its return with a muffled noise, then wrapped his arms around it. Like a child with a stuffed animal. In the thirty seconds it took for Alec to locate a pair of jeans that were his and didn’t smell like they needed washing, Jace was already snoring again.

Jace was wrong. Alec hadn’t complained fifteen times. He’d complained maybe five times, all of them well-reasoned and thorough arguments that lasted twenty minutes each. He was studying to become a lawyer; being long-winded and pedantic was kind of part of the job description. So far, unfortunately, Alec had only ever had success in talking when it was in front of his family. Their baby brother Max had suffered through many a lecture on kindness and fair play from Alec, not their parents, but seemed to absorb enough to become a good kid. Isabelle had rolled his eyes as Alec dutifully explained to her which fashion lines she chose were linked to sweatshops, unfair labor and trade practices, but she took every word to heart and now held her wardrobe to stricter standards. 

Jace, on the other hand, never listened. Alec had tried to explain to him the consequences of his reckless, stupid decisions ever since they were 9 and 8 years old and Jace had snuck out of the house to watch New Year’s Eve fireworks from the roof of their three-story house. That was back when they were only best friends, not brothers. Alec hadn’t trailed along out of a sense of obligation or brotherly affection; Jace had convinced him it was a good idea, even though Alec had made a show of grumbling about it the entire way up the drain pipe on the side of the house. Maybe Jace should be the one studying law.

Their parents probably would have preferred it. The Lightwoods were corporate officers at an enormously successful real estate company, Morgenstern Realty, buying and leasing properties and office space all over southern California. They almost exclusively dealt with companies, not individuals, commercial corporations that could pay big bucks for a space and required less individual care than a tenant would from a landlord. Alec liked to think that was what made his parents so ruthless in their business dealings, that seeing the struggling tenant they forced out of a space by unscrupulous means as a vague, intangible entity meant they didn’t have to care. But very often, distressingly often, his parents would snatch up small homes and apartments, pressure the tenants into giving up their homes, and then bulldoze them to create undeveloped industrial lots that inevitably became strip malls.

His parents wanted Alec to get a business degree, an engineering degree even, something that would prepare him for taking over the reins of the business when they chose to retire. But Alec was becoming a lawyer. He wanted to become a lawyer to protect the well-meaning citizens who didn’t understand the law and to fight back against those who would take advantage of them. He wanted to become a lawyer to challenge people like his parents.

He hadn’t, of course, articulated this exactly to his parents. And he still felt embarrassed by the thought, at times wondering if this was really a career choice or just delayed teenaged rebellion that he’d never allowed himself to act on before. His parents loved him, he thought. Their money -- no matter where it had come from -- had given Alec everything he could have needed or wanted for in his life, including his tuition, books, transportation, room and board while he went to college. He and Jace shared a room to let Isabelle and her closet have one to themselves, so their living situation was cozy, but Alec knew very well how expensive space was in Los Angeles. Their parents put no limit on their monthly stipend for living expenses; if they needed more money, they’d get it. And Alec took it all without complaint.

He felt like a hypocrite, like a liar. And that was before he even thought about the fact that he was gay and hadn’t told his parents. Just like they expected him to graduate law school and use his degree to help them draft contracts with exploitable loopholes, they expected him to find a nice girl one day and give them grandchildren. There was also the easier to shoulder -- but no less heavy -- expectation that Alec would take care of Jace and Isabelle while they all went to school. Alec was twenty, a junior. He should have been focused on internships and applications to law schools, not making sure his 19 year old brother and 18 year old sister went to bed in a timely fashion. They were both adults, but they were both huge partiers, outgoing and extroverted, always on the lookout for a good time. It seemed like their favorite activity on any night was to get smashed at whatever sorority or frat was hosting a party that night and then call Alec at 2 in the morning to pick them up. Like last night, a freaking _Sunday_ , but they had both gone out to some party to toast the end of summer.

Alec had picked them up around 1, blessedly early, because they had never been to Studio City before and didn’t realize the bus that got them there didn’t run after midnight to pick them up. He’d been surprised to find Jace being held up by some guy who Isabelle was actively chatting up. Alec didn’t recognize him as one of his siblings’ friends -- clearly someone they had just met that night. But he appreciated that someone other than him wanted to make sure Jace didn’t fall face first into a puddle of his own sick, even if that someone was _covered_ in glitter and obviously interested in his baby sister. Alec had thanked him, once but earnestly, and the guy had looked ready to respond when Isabelle, giggling, stole his phone from his pocket to program in her number. Alec had gotten them home, hydrated, drugged (ibuprofen), and into bed, then face-planted into his own bed.

And now he was up, while Jace and Isabelle slumbered on peacefully, to go to his _stupid_ literature class at 9. Alec didn’t think Humanities majors were awake before noon, let alone in classes. But this was a weird class anyway, a general education course that fulfilled a requirement he needed to graduate. Which was why Alec hated it. He had managed to take enough AP classes in high school that most of his general education requirements were already checked off. He had enough credits to never touch a math, science or language book ever again. But for some reason, despite his history, philosophy, and sociology classes all requiring _tons_ of reading, the university required him to take an actual, honest-to-God English class before graduating. With poetry and shit. 

Alec was dreading it. He liked reading; that wasn’t a problem. But some of his philosophy courses had nearly killed him with their theoretical, intangible examples and metaphors. Poetry was going to be worse. Nothing but metaphors and flowery language. Rhymes. Alec hated rhyming. 

Even stopping at his favorite on-campus coffee shop hadn’t improved his mood. He sat through the lecture, dutifully taking notes on what they would be studying, the outline of the course, their assignment for next class. Their professor was at least animated and enthusiastic -- but not too much so, in deference to the early hour. She had the kind of voice that relaxed you but didn’t put you to sleep, and her short cropped gray hair and slacks made her seem comfortable and approachable. At least there was that. Alec loved history but his Colonial America professor’s nasally drone and penchant for running off on boring tangents had made Alec want to burn Jamestown to the ground himself and pretend it never existed.

The class roster was large, because it fulfilled a GE, so in addition to the lectures there was a smaller, once a week discussion group led by a teaching assistant. Luckily, Alec had grabbed one of the discussion groups timed for right after lecture; it helped to compartmentalize and make it feel like this class took up less time than it really did.

Heading into the smaller room, Alec tossed his empty coffee cup and looked around for a place to sit. A rectangular table took up most of the space, with enough chairs for twelve running up the sides. An unspoken rule guaranteed that the head of the table had been kept empty, reserved for the TA who had not yet arrived. 

Most everyone else had. Alec suddenly felt out of his depth. The class wasn’t just poetry it was poetry by female authors, which… attracted a certain crowd. A crowd that Alec wasn’t a part of. Already there were five girls assembled in the room and one gay guy. (Alec could tell because he had a bright red shirt on with the words “GAY A F” printed on it in a pale yellow. If he was trying to be misleading though, he was doing a damn good job of it.) Alec didn’t usually ping on people’s Gaydar (a term he found mildly offensive anyway), so he knew exactly what he looked like: cishet white male, former high school jock who didn’t care about the subject, didn’t know shit about feminism, and just wanted to get in and out with his credits. Other than the het part, they’d be right. (Alec knew what feminism _was_ and considered himself a feminist, but he’d never studied it and he knew the second an intellectual discussion on the subject started, he was better off making himself scarce and listening. Which he didn’t think was what he was supposed to do.)

He sat himself down next to a black girl who at least looked chill and across from a latina girl dressed in basketball shorts and a t-shirt, then immediately opened his notebook to stare at his syllabus. No one talked.

“A good and glorious morning to you all!” The bright, caffeinated voice shattered the awkward stillness of the room. Alec jerked his head up to look at who he assumed was their TA, blinked, and promptly forgot to breathe.

It was the guy from the night before, only now Alec could see him properly, without Jace draped over him and Isabelle constantly stepping in front of him and the dim street lamps as their only illumination. He was gorgeous. Alec had never professed to having a type before but suddenly he knew with crystal clarity that this was his type. His dark hair was gelled, styled up in a way that Alec himself would never try but was edgy on the TA. He was in vibrant teal chinos and a pale blue striped polo shirt, which somehow didn’t look stupidly preppy at all on him and accentuated his biceps in a way that made Alec uncomfortable. As he stepped into the room and surveyed his students, his eyes met Alec’s. Recognition dawned in them and Alec swallowed hard, overwhelmed by the friendly warmth that he could convey in just a glance.

“I’m Magnus. Just Magnus, thank you. No Mr. Bane and definitely no ‘Professor,’ remember that. I will be your TA and guide for the next ten weeks, and a shoulder for you to cry on during finals week. But if everything goes as planned and you do your work, there will be no need for tears.”

As he spoke, Magnus settled himself into the seat set aside for him and Alec realized with growing anxiety that he was as close as he could get to the man. There was one seat between them, left vacant, obviously because no one wanted to sit right next to their teacher, and Magnus had settled himself to his left, practically on the corner of the table, his laptop and books taking up the rest of the end space.

Alec tried to keep his look polite and attentive as Magnus continued to talk about how he ran discussion groups, what was expected of them, how this weekly meeting mattered and directly affected their grade. But Magnus’ face was too close to him. He was practically forced to stare at every detail of the man’s face, watch his lips move and curve as he smiled around his words, watch his eyes gleam with pleasure as he talked about the subject. His ears were pierced, Alec noticed, several times over, a line of gemstones like stars tucked into the cartilage of one ear. A few specks of glitter still clung to his eyelashes from the night before, distracting Alec every time Magnus blinked.

This was bad, he realized. Alec prided himself on being responsible, in control, on top of everything. He was a very serious student focused on getting good grades so he could get into a good law school and get himself into a very serious career. He’d had crushes before, including a long, awkward one on his adoptive brother, but he’d never let them distract him. And yet here he was, first class of the quarter, first _day_ of the quarter, and he had no clue what his TA was even saying, too caught up in staring at the bit of his collarbone that peeked out from the open collar of his shirt.

“Lightwood?” Alec nearly jumped out of his seat, startled to attention by his own name. He blinked and found Magnus staring at him, his brow raised in question.

“Are you here, Mr. Lightwood?” He was teasing him, and his dark eyes seemed to light up in amusement.

“Yeah. Yeah, sorry. I mean, I’m here. I’m-- yeah.”

A girl across from him rolled her eyes indiscreetly and Alec stared down at his notebook, willing the attention off of him. Magnus continued with roll call.

Even his voice sounded amazing.

Oh God, he was so fucked.


End file.
